


Veridicous

by chronicAngel



Series: Concresce [9]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/M, POV Third Person, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-13 22:09:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15374403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicAngel/pseuds/chronicAngel
Summary: veridicousadj. truthful





	Veridicous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikorins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikorins/gifts).



She is due to leave for Demacia in the morning to begin a mission that is expected to take at least two months. Ezreal is understandably clingy. (He's always clingy, though. She thinks he will likely always _be_ clingy.)

His arms are wrapped around her hips while he rests his cheek against the muscles in her stomach, and she plays with his hair since it is so close to her hands, anyway. (She likes to. His hair is coarse and she likes the feeling of it between her fingers.) Eventually, after almost an hour of sitting in the dim light of the single lamp in his room in silence, he says, "Have you ever thought about having kids?"

She makes a face, but does not point out the randomness of this question. "No," she answers honestly.

"Really? Not even since we've been dating?" He sounds more curious than offended.

She does not know how to explain that having children has never been an option for her like it is for him. She is from a noble family in Demacia. She and Garen have both always been expected to one day grow up and have children who will then grow up to be the same perfect soldiers that the Crownguards are reputed to produce. She has actively avoided thinking of children for most of her life because it is not something she has ever needed to think about. "Really," she says aloud.

He is quiet for a moment, processing this. She wonders if it is going to be a fight, even as she thinks it is a ridiculous thing to fight over. "...Me either," he admits after a long pause, and she raises a brow but does not question him aloud. "I never had a legacy to pass on or a family to expand. For a while, it felt like I didn't _deserve_ that sort of domesticity. Normal families are for people who stay in one city their whole lives with two parents that love them." He pauses, and then grins at her. "It's for Demacians with the kind of insensitive mom and the tired veteran dad and the big, honorable older brother."

She grabs one of his pillows and smacks him in the shoulder with it, though it is not very hard. He laughs and tries to block her blows until she sets it down where it is supposed to go. She lets him crawl up over her and then lets him drop himself on top of her, resting his face against her collarbone and running his thumb along the tendons in her wrist. "Children were never something I was to consider," she offers after a moment, and she feels his eyebrow quirk against her skin. "If a Crownguard does not have children it is because they die in battle before they have the chance. I never intended to die in battle, so remaining childless wasn't an option."

The silence that follows this confession is uncomfortable. She does not like to talk about her life as a noble in Demacia with Ezreal because there are many aspects she thinks he would not understand. There would be too many _b_ _ut why_ 's that she would not be able to answer.

"...Do you want children?" He asks, sounding almost concerned. No one has ever asked her this question before. She finds that Ezreal constantly asks her questions she has never been asked before and she does not know why it takes her by surprise every time. She knows that he loves her. He wants to know what she thinks _because_ he loves her. He loves her mind as much as her appearances and it makes her heart stutter fondly.

"I never thought about it," she jokes, and this time he is the one to grab the pillow and hit her with it, but it is only a single soft thump against her shoulder before he is nuzzling himself into her neck again, holding the pillow between his chest and hers. They are quiet like that for a long time. She runs her fingers through his hair again and his warm breaths tumble out against her skin and it is nice.

She can't stop thinking about it, though, now that he has posed the question. (Now that he has given her a choice for the very first time.) She thinks about children with some stiff Demacian soldier, retiring from military service to take care of children she has never really wanted (two, most likely, the same number her father and her grandfather both produced, an heir and a spare), instilling them with a patriotism she questions more and more with every day she spends in Piltover or adventuring with Ezreal. She wrinkles her nose in distaste at the thought.

But then she thinks about children with Ezreal. It is strange to think about, as her relationship with him has been as one-day-at-a-time as he tends to be, and while she has always been sure they had a future, it has never been an idea she has entertained too much. Now, she thinks of blonde children with itchy feet, pestering Ezreal for stories about his adventures or begging Lux to show them her magic. (She wonders if they would have magic. She does not know the science of inheriting it, or if there is any science to it at all.) It is a nice picture, if a strange one.

"Perhaps some day," she says airily, noncommittal.

"You don't have to want it, you know," he says, as though worried she is only saying this to appease him. Knowing Ezreal, he probably is. He always seems to be worried that she is sacrificing her own autonomy because she loves him so much. (He worries just as much that she does not love him anymore, and she wonders how he can possibly believe both.)

She thinks it is almost funny. She has never been given a choice before, and now Ezreal insists on giving her as much of a choice as he can. "I know," she agrees. He nods, his face pressing closer to her neck in the process. "...What about you? Do you want children?"

He hums in thought for a moment, lifting his face to look at her. She wonders if he is imagining the same scenarios that she did.

"I don't know," he says slowly after a minute. She is tempted to roll her eyes, but stops herself when she realizes he isn't joking. "I don't think I'd be any good at it. Parenting, I mean." She cannot help but think the same must be true of herself. Neither of them had excellent examples. (Her fake parents, putting on a masquerade even in front of their children. His parents who disappeared before they had the opportunity to teach him anything.) She's silent for a few seconds before he snorts and rolls away from her, swatting at the air in her vague direction, "You were supposed to say I wouldn't be."

"Was I?" She raises an eyebrow, and he watches her for a minute like he is waiting for her next move. She has to consider it for a minute. "...I think you have too many stories not to pass them on to _someone_ ," she says eventually.

His expression makes a real shift into thoughtfulness, unlike the mocking impression of consideration he attempts to annoy her with sometimes. She wonders what he is thinking about. Is it still children, or simply how many stories he has to tell? She's not sure even she could count them. "I could write a book." She gives him a skeptical look and he tries to look offended for a second before simply joining her in her laughter. Then he stops, suddenly, so she does too, and she tries not to blush at the way he stares intently at her face even as she should be used to it by now. "I have enough time to tell them all to you."

She does blush this time, unable to stop it, so she scoots closer to him and hides it by burying her face in his neck. Like it is second nature for him, he wraps his arms around her, holding her against his chest. She can't help but note how warm he is, much warmer than she ever feels. She doesn't talk again until she thinks he might have fallen asleep, lifting her head only to see that he still stares at her fondly. "...What about the stories we make together?"

Everything in his face softens. "...Yeah, I guess I'd need someone to tell those to."

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to think like, "What if [x scenario with pregnancy or children]?" (Not for this series, just in general.) I couldn't with these two. This happened instead.


End file.
